Archive for the ‘Front Range Business’ Category


Volleyball Bids Duke Adieu

Volleyball Bids Duke Adieu– Terry Pettit

On September 18, Horace “Smitty Duke”, age 68, a setter-hitter for the 1968 United States Olympic team that upset the Russians in the Mexico Olympics, the setter the Mexicans called “el hombre de las manos de oro,” the man from Texas who was a four time All American baseball pitcher for the University of Dallas, who could play every position on a baseball field better than any of his teammates, the man who was selected to the All World Volleyball team at the World Cup in Czechoslovakia 1966, the man who was the only non-West Coast male on the U.S. 68 Olympic team, the man who died his hair red along with teammate Mary Jo Peppler when they played professional volleyball for the El Paso – Juarez Sol in 1975, the man who was a legend in Texas because he chose volleyball over a career in professional baseball, the man who made the single greatest attack I ever saw in volleyball, died from prostate cancer in his home in Unicoi, Tennessee.

The play: It was 1971 at a USVBA tournament at an event center St. Louis, Missouri. Smitty Duke was playing for the Dallas YMCA, his home club when he was not playing internationally. He was stationed at right front in a 6-2 offense, attacking from the right side in the front row while setting when he was in the back row.

A free ball came over the net and was passed to the back row setter. With the middle attacker up in the air for what the volleyball world called a Jap,(a quick set in the middle) the setter backset the ball to Duke. Smitty had several options. Because the block was split he could spike the ball cross-court for a kill. Because the ball was set to the pin he could have easily wiped the ball off the outside blocker with a simple wrist -away shot down the line. Even a tip would have scored easily.

Instead, he chose to wipe the ball off the inside hand of the blocker which would require the ball to travel a minimum of thirty feet for the shot to score. The shot was hit harder than any attack I had ever seen. After deflecting off the opponent’s inside hand the ball traveled laterally for three courts while still rising and hit the wall thirty feet above the floor. Play stopped on all five courts while everyone but Smitty Duke thought about what just happened.

Why did he do it? He did it for the same reason that he chose a relatively minor sport over a much more lucrative option. In a state where football and baseball received all of the coverage and notoriety, Smitty Duke was famous for choosing volleyball. He didn’t do it because it was what the situation called for. He didn’t do it to draw attention to himself. He did it (both the choice and the shot) because he could.

Terry Pettit – Author of Talent and the Secret Life of Teams, available at www.terrypettit.com

Smitty Duke 1942-2010


Yikes: A Social Network for Bad Coaching

Bingo Hermann – Assistant Coach – UKA
I want some advice. We went 3 and 23 this year and I think the head coach is going to get fired, which is really unfair, because in the video we got of our freshman setter from Slovakia you couldn’t tell she only had three fingers on her left hand, and what I want to know is when the head coach gets the footballarooski, what are my chances for the head job?

Wally Fodemski – Yorkville Window Replacement College:
Sometimes I deliberately turn in the wrong lineup just to see how my team handles it. Also, I like to order applesauce at Burger King. Same thing.

Guenther Stinkfowl – Tammy Faye Baker University
Give each of your players a few bucks depending upon how good they hit the ball. This is not so good idea. This is what my athletics director tells me. But what I don’t get is why it is good for basketball player?

Tammy Lou Turnipseed – Chatahoochie Community College
In the last four years we are 527 and 3 and I can’t get an xxxxxxx
interview at a xxx xxxx Baptist college. What’s up with that?

Boyd Webber III – Wyoming Institute of Technology
On recruiting: If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, it is probably a duck . . . or a coot . . . or a grebe or maybe a dwarf dressed up as a blue winged teal . . . or maybe some sort of pigeon mutation or . . .

Shirley Cleavage – Mount Pleasant
Has anybody out there ever used Member’s Mark Volleyballs? My S.W.A. says they are OFFICIAL. They look like xxxxing soccer balls to me.

Goat Bukowski – Newark Chef’s Academy
We have an open date on Sept 5, 12, 21, 28 and October 3, 10, and 21. We will travel if you promise to return sometime soon, preferably this season. Also we need five teams for our six-team invitational on Thanksgiving weekend.

Tom Tripe – Volunteer Coach MISTAK U.
I came up with this wonderful anagram for team building. Tell me what you think of it:

T – Togetherness : We do everything together, well not exactly everything, but most things, except when we don’t.

• E – Eventually: Eventually everything will come together with our togetherness and we will start to win or at least not lose as much as we have been.

• A – A: A is our passing formation backwards in our fifth rotation because our libero who is at the top of the “A” which is near the baseline can’t pass.

• M – Mighty Marmots: This was our old nickname until one of the players looked it up on Wikipedia and discovered what a marmot is, which is not very attractive or athletic, and then we looked at ourselves and our record and decided a more accurate team name would be The Relatively Mighty Marmots, but that wouldn’t fit in the anagram.

Like:
• Tammy Lou Turnipseed
• Boyd Webber III
• Goat Bukowski

Farmville to Shirley Cleavage – Mount Pleasant
Wally Fodemski found a deflated Voit volleyball on your Turnip Farm. It was being used as a doorstop.

— Terry Pettit – author of Talent and the Secret Life of Teams. From October 5 through December 1, 2010, Coaches who order 5 or more copies of Talent and the Secret Life of Teams at www.terrypettit.com will receive a free telephone consultation with Coach Pettit on a coaching issue of their choosing.


On The Eve Of The Ryder Cup, 2010

We are sitting at the bar at Oskar Blues off the diagonal in Longmont, Colorado after watching our daughter’s team play a volleyball match in Boulder, where the linesmen were barefoot and the locals were more interested in the five-piece band than the score. Anne is sipping water with lemon while I am drinking a stout thicker than roast beef that tastes like licorice.

Next to us three men in their fifties are talking about the courses they’ve played. Nancy Grant, a former player of mine at Nebraska, once told me that only thing that was a bigger waste of time than the four hours men spend on a golf course is the time men spend talking about golf after the round, and in particular the shots they could have made but didn’t. Her husband, Mike, is an avid golfer. I completely understand what she meant and I am guilty on all counts.

On the television above the bar three Golf Channel jockeys are in animated conversation about the four-ball pairings in tomorrow’s Ryder Cup matches, which are not named after the truck rental company, but an English seed salesman who first proposed competition between English and American golfers in 1925. In recent years Europe has replaced England because through the middle third of the last century Great Britain began to be not so competitive in a lot of things, among them the Ryder Cup. I always have difficulty getting “up” for a continent.

It is hard for me to get patriotic about the Ryder Cup because 90% of the professional golfers on both teams live in Florida, do not pay state taxes, have beautiful wives (in some cases multiple lovers) who drive BMWs on their way to Whole Foods and Sax 5th Avenue. Having said that, I will watch because I am fascinated with how athletes handle pressure, although it would be much more entertaining if each competitor put up twenty percent of his own yearly income, winner take all.

Later this week I will play in one of the thousands of Ryder Cup spinoffs that take place around the country pitting local clubs against each other. I was the 24th and last man selected for the Mariana Butte Team (a mountain course in Loveland, Colorado) that will compete against 24 golfers from the Olde Course, which sits on flat land in the center of town.

Selected is perhaps too strong a word. For the second year in a row, I will be one of the oldest competitors on either team, making the Mariana Butte team this year by the skin of my teeth, by  finishing with a net 70 in the club championship when several younger golfers allowed their minds to drift to the Broncos, the Rockies, families or fixing the leaf blower. God, how I love to compete. At 64 the opportunities are getting fewer and fewer.

After we finish our meal we get in our car and begin the short journey back to home, Anne happy that we stopped and sat and talked, me with the lingering taste of molasses from the home brewed stout, and I am reminded of the sweet contentment of the children’s book written by Margaret Wise Brown which I read to both our daughters before they grew up into the world of volleyball, SATs, college degrees and marriage. I shall paraphrase here:

Good night moon.

Good night to the three men talking

Swing paths in the Oskar Blues Bar.

Good night to the spaces between the stars.

Good night Anne, Katherine and  Emma

And facebook acquaintances wherever you are.

Good night to garish sweaters and and large white belts.

Good night to my father who turned 89 this week,

Who made my first golf club on a wooden lathe,

May he continue to dream of hickory shafted drivers,

Of walking from the the green to the next tee,

Of mashies, niblicks, spoons and cleeks.